Chapter 8
ASHER
"She hasn't come out of her room yet. Keeps sending away the maids and won't even let mom in."
'Amateur' I think in my head as Ashley drones on about Demi over the phone. Poor thing. This is her first brush with the cold reality of being famous. Online trolls always go for the jugular, especially the ones hiding behind a fake account. I want to feel sorry for Demi but frankly, I have bigger problems to worry about. While she is busy sobbing over a few nasty comments about her body and face, I am fiddling a small envelop in my hand while I take this call. The contents of this envelop will make normal people cry and for the weak ones, it will drive them to depression and ultimately suicide. I don't have that luxury. I have three brothers that I believe can't function properly without my constant voice in their heads.
"Frankly, I think this isn't such a bad thing." Rising, I spin to enjoy the wuthering height of the Rollins Group HQ through the glass walls and the mesmerizing view of distant skyscrapers towering above the bustling city beneath. I live for this heady view each day and the powerful feeling that accompanies it.
"What do you mean?" Ashely enquires.
"Isn't this what we want? To get her to leave our family on her own steam?" I tuck the envelop into my pocket hoping for the out of sight and out of mind effect and twitch my suit jacket closer. "At least this way we don't get our hands dirty. We'll leave it to our fans to play Russian roulette with her mental health. I doubt even the fierce Demi Branson can withstand their torture."
Ashley huffs out a breath. "And father? He's fine with the drama?"
"He's never fine with anything that doesn't pad his account and you know it." A soft rap on my door has me turning and the sight of Josh Randall's face drains the humor in mine. My head steams with annoyance as he helps himself to a seat while I wrap up my call with Ashley. "Let's tackle this in the group tonight. Later Ash." I hang up the phone and grit my teeth at my colleague.
Josh's face is fashioned for arrogance almost as much as mine is fashioned for admiration. My eyes dart to his crossed legs and anger simmers in my gut. I have never disliked a person as much as I dislike Josh. The man is meticulous at his job and represents my toughest competition every year for best employee of the year award in the parent company. We go neck-to-neck in our bid to please Mr. Brett Rollins. I admire Josh's work ethic and dedication which consistently rivals mine. Yet, I can't help but hate him because every time I stare into his face, I am brutally reminded of what my father looked like in his twenties.
"What can I help you with, Randall?" I snap impatiently at my half-brother. Josh squares his shoulders at the way I deliberately stretched his last name. A cocky smile plays on his lips as he glares at me.
"Easy bro..."